Flowers

Spencer stopped for flowers on his way to work. At the time he found this sensible; he had to go straight to the second date from his office, and, knowing rush hour, would feel pressured for time to stop after. As he pulled into the parking lot a realization hit him, and his stomach flipped upside down—he could not bear to bring the flowers into the office and set them on his desk. To field questions from his coworkers filled him with dread so that his cheeks turned red in anticipated embarrassment. No, he thought it better to leave them in his car.

There they sat baking in the heat. When he handed them to Jacqueline at the table, the petals had begun to wilt, and there were too few of them, having fallen off and littered the mats. He blushed when handing them to her and avoided her eyes, looking instead at the grey sidewalk. “I’m glad to see you again,” he said.

No. 143